


The Rebel Daughter

by Modifier_x



Series: Dreams from a modern world [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All Magic Comes With a Price, Alternate History, Angst, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Business, Concept Art Solas, Contracts, Cultural Differences, Entrapment, Family Dynamics, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, MIGT, Modern Dad in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Original Character(s), Racism, Slow Build, Social Issues, War, unfair employment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-03-22 23:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modifier_x/pseuds/Modifier_x
Summary: Look I am telling you now, this is not a good mgit story.Not as in poorly done but it is not a happy story if you want a happy tale about a modern girl/person helping save thedas to go elsewhere. But if you're going to see how a broken woman turns on her family and joins the other side then...read on.Just give me a little time to get there.





	1. The beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta read we mess up our grammar ourselves.

There is absolute peace in the chaos of the end of everything as you know it.

Well, I believe there is, but the people running around my small hometown don't think so even as we have mear hours till it all ends people are still fleeing away from the coast as if that would grant them time. Look they might be right but honestly whats it worth to live those few extra hours anyway? No electricity, no medical care, and no reports on what is happening afterwards.

I don't see the point, so I came home, or well the home I wanted to be at my brother stayed in the south listening to the emergency workers and their words about "safety." Well, you might be asking how this all came to be, and I am inclined to tell you as if this survives what comes and someone later can read this you deserve to know why we died.

How we killed the world.

World War III was nothing like any war before. The death toll was as high, and it got it's kick off in 1999, just as Nostradamus said it would, with the repeal of the Glass-Steagall act. Now the money of average citizens could be used in speculation on the dark markets, taken away from local communities and business.

It was a war fought by the bankers, the real rulers, those above the governments of every nation - for when a person can make money, what do the laws matter to them? They can buy anyone, anywhere, take control with ease.

The deaths were in the foreign lands; over two billion were starving, another two billion malnourished. Then came the destabilisation efforts, setting one group against another and making big profits selling them arms. Extremist groups were funded and arranged to cause death and destruction in their homelands on a scale no foreign power could achieve without provoking nuclear armageddon.

During the war even the relatively whole countries in the west were kept in a vice of fear, anything to stop them correctly analysing the situation. After the corruption in the Catholic church, fewer and fewer turned to God, to the positive spirit of the universe. The words of Christ still echoed in the culture, struggling under the massive indoctrination of the media and the corporate distractions.

And yet here we are the eve of the end, whatever has its hand in the universes fate has a sick sense of humour, today of all days is when it all ends my damned 30th birthday. The war hadn't come to the land down under yet, but we still sent our troops to fight alongside our allies. Sent men and women to fight against those that could have been neighbours or friends, even sent our children out to fight with barely an understanding of what they are fighting.

I have seen what happened in central Australia when I drove up to home. It was not the best decision as the guerrilla groups are still fighting and roam that stretch of road, yet I wanted to be home sooner rather than later, and so I saw the damage caused by what we have done.

The country of my birth is no longer my home. How can a place of so much pain be good for the heart? Everything that was the backdrop of our lives lies in ruins, and the dead are as common as fall leaves. No-one cries anymore, not like we used to. Every person is either stoic, robbed of all feeling, or else hysterical and sobbing like they don't want to survive another day.

The war didn't just come to the men with guns; it came to the mothers, the fathers, the children and babies alike. Many died of the spreading diseases instead of the bullets and suffered all the more. There isn't a single family intact, not one. We are all widows, widowers and orphans. All this rubble, all this wreckage, it is nothing compared to the devastation inside our souls. We can only look to God and pray He can use this tragedy for a better end, to bring peace, to restore a hope we have all but given up on.

But most have already given up on god and those similar to him.

It's strange pulling into what is left of my childhood home and seeing the walls pulled apart and the gate cleared away from its rail, I remember all the time I spent learning how to open and close it quietly at night and sitting on the garden bridge with my stepmother pulling up weeds on weekends. But now, now the deck has rotted, and the gate went only small section of the rail, and support beams remain.

My dad stands at the front door just like he did every time I came to see him on Christmas, hair tied back and looking to thin to be good for his age. Behind him stands my nephews that come running to me with their small toys showing me each new character that their mother bought for them earlier in the week before their dad brought them to granddad and nanas.

I don't get long with the youngest of my family as it is "nap time" and so they run off with my stepsister to go and lay down, all that is left of my family awake and sitting out the back of the house with music softly paying off an old radio. Dad and I sit on the long bench with oma listening to the cries of our family; oma is talking in German again, tales of the second and cold war, words about how she thought she would not live and die in a third one.

It is almost three hours later that the music stops and the siren begins, we have stopped crying long ago and just sat in pairs family holding family. My head lies in my oma's lap as she strokes my face just as she had when I was younger, a gentle fingertip dragged across my tearstained cheeks, my father holds my hand and holds his wife close with the other the ringing sound is heard first and my last words are lost in it.

_**"Ich Liebe Dich von ganzem Herzen."** _

The shockwave of the blast hits and I can feel as my spine connects with the brick wall behind me, I can hear the screams around me but what I can't see I can feel burning against my skin. Pain sears through my abdomen better than a branding iron, my mind conceding to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion. Without meaning to my body curls into something fetal, something primeval and all the while the pain burns and radiates.

The world falls black, and it is over.

Yet through the darkness and the burning pain of my body, I see colour, like half dead leaves a sickly green slash tinted with yellows and reds. I reach for it in desperation a single chance to survive, to keep going.

My vision blurs and ears ring as over the sound of rushing water I can hear a voice just out of view.

**"Seeker! Another crawling from the rubble!"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The German translates to "I love you with all my hear


	2. What Happened in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some background about why my character is the way they are and the actual beginning of the story.

I don't know if I am dead or if I am dreaming, but I know that I will see my past as I always have. Brief flashes and jumbled segments of when I was a young adult and when the war had barely even reached our shoars, days when the only thing that stained a person skin was tobacco or paint and yet there we stood in the street coved in black signs and smoke in varying colours. Words of peace in screams of terror as we the "unknowing" youth tried to make those older listen to us.

We were at war, and the teenagers knew it while their parents and grandparents denied it. Barely out of one and into another it was a thought they did not want to entertain till my generation stepped up and showed them that they were wrong.

I dream of the first time my family ever had to face the facts of the war; I was a rebel, I ran with a bunch of the other teens and young adults that had time to take to the streets and try to sing about what was going on. My hands were stained with the green smoke that we used, and my clothes often smelt like flares from nighttime rallies, all my masks and glasses were flecked with paint from our trips to the head offices of the banks where we defaced their signs and painted our "propaganda" onto their walls.

I dream of the first time my voice was heard by family and friends as I took to the roof of a car, framed by the still lingering green smoke of our arrival. "How long would our western 'civilisation' stand if instead of Kate in a tiara on Hello magazine it was a starving child with their name and where they live, how they are suffering. Exclusive, extra, extra, read all about it! But no, we have to keep seeing our 'rulers.' Why is that?" I see the shifting faces in the crowd fear, concern, contemplation, and varying levels of guilt spread across the square.

Cars packed with giddy teens and older people ready to show the world that we saw what was going on and we weren't prepared to let it all end, not that it mattered in the end.

I dream of the day our group from the east was called one of the extremists, as the two others that lead the group with me accepted an offer from a "benefactor" to fund our group and give us the ability to fight back more and more. I dream about the day that the benefactor sent guns not food to our group, I still see the look of satisfaction on some of the peoples faces as they took a weapon and spoke with each other.

I dreamed of the pain of the betrayal of my group when I turned down the gun offered to me; I still see the look of confusion that melts into disgust when I explain that we aren't like the others that look to violence to prove their point. I couldn't continue to run with them if they choose to kill to prove their point. I dream of the pain that came with my denial, the crimson stains on my clothes and skin as a friend turns to an enemy over a moral stance.

Others scream when I crumble red seeps from my shoulder and stomach, three others fall afterwards, their wounds fatal where mine was a statement, and the rest of the group flee.

I dream of the police that burst through and into the place we usually gather, the look of concern and then the pure determination as I am removed from the building. I know being dress in civilian clothing is what saved me that day, to the police I was an unlucky victim to the new extremist group in the east, not a member turned on after a disagreement.

It was for the best that they thought as such.

But now I dream of the day one of the safe cities became another war zone, my home in Melbourne torn to shreds on the outer suburbs and the inner city only defined by the sheer number of police. I remember the day my work was evacuated as the area was no longer safe, I dream of the look on my brothers face when I get back home apparently it was my old rebel group that was moving on that area, and he was concerned for me, a first in a long time.

But even these dreams must come to an end, I can hear in the background of what should be the day I watched as my partner was lowered into the ground people yelling and cheering. Crys of 'Thank the Maker!' and 'We are saved.' ring through the air and draw me back to the waking world that should not have been, my vision is fogged, and my eyes sting when I open them nothing feels right, and I want it to stay that way.

I should be dead, the world died, my family died, we burned, and it all ended so why am I awake?

I look to the left of me, and I know the face of the man lying in rags beside me. My brother in law, he is not breathing and looks pale as a sheet of old paper, I don't cry for him, but I can feel the tears on my skin, an uncomfortable warmth against the cold of my skin. I want to look away from the body, but I can't find the strength to do so, he was barely five years older than me what made me live through this and not him? He had children, a wife, a family. He had a future.

I was a foolish child who helped ruin her home.

I roll myself back to lay as I was staring at the roof overhead, I should have been dead. A carbon shadow against the wall of my childhood home, not lying next to the body of my brother in law.

My thoughts about what I should be, and why I am still breathing are interrupted by a voice calling from somewhere by my feet.

**"Get the healer!** another one of the knife ears is awake. **"**

Grief. Feels like emptiness in your heart, a shear of nothingness that somehow takes over and holds your soul and threatens to kill you entirely. It gives you this heavy feeling that’s like the weight of the world is resting on your shoulders, and there is nothing you can do to get out from under it. It's like this hole in your heart that is the shape of the one you lost and that makes you feel the need to wipe away any non-existent tears that you want to form but can’t.

I am grieving.

My family, my friends, my home, and according to those around me I am grieving for a woman I have never met. I got to see who else was in that tent with me; I wish I hadn't one of my two nephews lay next to his father and their mother nowhere to be seen, an empty space where I lay and another beside someone covered by a sheet. I was not meant to outlive those two; they were barely six years old, and yet I have already survived over one of them.

I am guided away from the tent that my families corpses lay within; I have little interest in where I am going yet perhaps I should have paid attention. Letting my eyes search skyward for any sign that this was still home, I am greeted by a sky that is consumed in numerous shades of grey and white and green. It looks like the sun has given up on trying to break through this iron curtain of clouds that it has become content to lounging out behind them.

It reminds me of the smoke clouds of the protests.

When the person guiding me helps me down a small set of stairs, I feel it again.

The pain.

The pain throbs in my guts, it's thick and warm, but not in a nice way. It feels like someone has their hand in there and are squeezing my organs either gently or as hard as they can. I can move, there is no blood anywhere, but my abdomen is purple and lumpy where it should be smooth, My skin has paled dramatically with mottled patches of bruising. Every step feels like a nail bomb exploding in my innards, despite this person instance I crumple catching myself on the ground with a sharp gasp.

I haven't been in this much pain since they shot me.

I had only felt this alone; this lost once... So incapable of doing even the smallest tasks. And this was just the beginning, the beginning of the pain, the suffering and the endless congo line of emotions that were in store for me. When My body healed my mind would come crashing down afterwards as it always had, suffer the bullet wounds and only break down when you get home a month later, the world ends, and your body was broken.

Break down later.

Again my thoughts are interrupted, but this time it is gentle hands, and a soft voice instead of pure yelling, pale hands lead to pale wrists that slip away under vibrant blue and gold fabric, looking further up at the new person guiding me I am met with concern and then relief. "Can you walk on your own?" gentle words for a broken person met with a slow shake of the head, I can't I will fall again and won't get up, "Then let me help you, we'll have you inside and with the other one from that tent."

Clinging to the arm of this stranger makes me think back on leaving the hospital, I needed help then too. I am always either too stubborn or too reliant at the worst of times, however, I doubt this man cares about my death grip in his clothes as he is merely humming softly as he moves me towards another tent.

Dark red cloth hangs across the entrance we pass through, perhaps it is for security or privacy, but at the moment I can hardly care as my entire being jolts when I see the man sitting on the ground by the end of the tent. Whoever is holding me up did not expect the sudden movement and as such came jolting forwards till I released their clothes.

Falling to my knees beside this person, I hope in my heart to be who I believe it to be as my hands shake when I reach out to them laying my hand on their arm. My heart stops when I look at them, sharp cheekbones and tanned skin that filled my childhood face me when grey-blue meets Grey-green eyes.

" _Little one?_ "

" **Dad**."


	3. When we Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow, slow, slow. 
> 
> That how this will be.

Words left me.

I stared into those blue eyes burning with something dark, and my heart fell silent. “Little one” he whispered. But I couldn’t will my lips to move. As if stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled as he pointed a shaky finger in my face. “where are we? What happened to you?” he demanded. But my mind was blank and my eyes wide as I stared at him in despair. His eyes desperately searched mine… waiting. I had to say something! I searched my mind for something to say, but my heart answered for me, “ ** _We died_**.”

I know tensing against the shaking of my limbs is useless but I do it instinctively, trying to suppress for a few more moments what I know I cannot. I need to drink in the silence to counteract the fear that threatens to engulf me. This kind of thick silence would chill me, especially after all that has happened since I was betrayed. The silence was poison to us, for in that void of sound the shallowness of our conversation was laid bare. What used to be an intellectual banter of politics and comedic moments was utterly gone.

Shock and despair are what linger in the air as the curtain shifts, whoever brought me here has left. My father and I alone with little knowledge about where we are, but shaking boney hands draw my face back to him "Little one, you **changed** ," eyes roam my face tracing the features he would have known well. "You haven't," and that is no lie my father has not changed bar his hair.

Soft fingers drag across the tops of my cheeks and shift some of my hair away from my face, I have never seen my father cry, and I believed I never would but now when we had died and now live again he cries just as I do. I am pulled into him cradled against his chest, scratchy cloth against my cheek that heaves as my father sobs violent things that catch slightly when he exhales.

Shakey breaths and shivers are all I can manage as my emotions run empty, in the arms of my father who has fallen silent after the heaving sobs of earlier. "I did so much wrong, and yet here we are," my dad begins to shake again before pushing me away from him, resting a hand on my shoulder and the other cradling my face. "You fought so hard, and here we are."

He looks so ragged and rundown, I only remember him looking like this once, and that was after oma had her stroke which left him worried and lost as oma was nowhere near ready to 'retire' at that point. I probably look no better by the time the pale man come back with a bunch of cloth in his arms, sitting side by side with my dad I can see clearly what this person looks like.

He was pale but not like I am, his hair is a mix of black and pale silver like stress had taken his youth from him early on in life, the robes I had seen earlier were as strange as I had seen previously. The blue of his robes is so dark in this tent that you could almost call them black, but against his pale skin it looked even more dismal than possible "What now?" my voice is husky and raw after the crying, but apparently, my speech makes the stranger happy or at least pleased.

"Now, well no we get you both dressed and fed. Then it is up to you," his voice is familiar and when I concentrate on his face something niggles at me that I should know this person and yet in the wake of this complete loss. My mind settles for somewhere out there in the mess of my past I may have met someone like him before.

My fathers hand wraps around my wrist, and he holds on tight, " **Don't** leave me I-" He looks at me and then squeezes slightly "-I can't lose whats left. Not you, no now. Please just. _**Please**_?" Looking back at my dad I know that never in my life have I seen him like this, I have no way to know what I have to say and any words die on my lips when I try.

" I am only going to take her to the next tent over, then she will be back, and all will be well," This stranger pulls me away from my father and out of the tent.He didn't lie when he said we would be only next door, but I doubt that mattered to my father to him I was just gone again, and maybe I wouldn't be coming back this time. Another bundle of cloth is placed by me when we enter the next tent; three other women stand in the shelter each at a different stage of dressing. One is pulling on their boots, the following tying off their pants and the last is pulling the tie closed on what looked like a dress.

My presence and the departure was hardly noticed by these women; I was just another person dropped here with them. The cloth lump next to me was very brown, or at first glance, it looked as such, an off cream coloured shirt was the first thing I pulled out and through on. It replaced what was left of the black shirt I wore to die in, the next Item was a pair of strange pants; they tied at the waist, and again at the end of each leg. They replaced the sweatpants that I had owned for so long I can barely remember how I came to hold them.

There was now nothing left on me that could remind me of home if I looked a stranger before. Now I must surely look like another person, the familiar robed man came back and guided me from the tent.

My father stands in front of the tent next to me, dress much the same as I am, yet on him, the clothes seem loose and draping where mine sits almost right against my skin. His hair a wild mess down his back, nothing like the usual style he wore at home, we are strangers now just barely holding things together as the world moves on. 

I am holding his hand as we walk behind the robed man, I feel like a child again, and my face twists with the though.

**Child.**

Noah. My little nephew is gone, he and his father lay in some tent somewhere alone and here I a with my father walking, talking, alive physically but emotionally we would be well at home amongst the dead and the damned. I don't cry when I think about my family that is somewhere dead barely thought about by these people, no I squeeze my father's hand and trail along behind this strangely familiar man.

If we had not been so sure we should have died, so stripped bare of our emotion and sense I would have stopped and thought about where we are, my father would have tried to get us to leave this place. I ignore the voice in the back of my head telling me to grab dad and run, run far far away from this place and carry on.

" _I'm not going anywhere dad, not anymore_ ," a whisper under my breath and a gentle squeeze are all I can offer as we follow blindly behind a stranger.

Then when the world around us erupts in cheer, but even the joyous yells of those around us, we ignore it and keep to our morning of a dead home.


	4. Wood and Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we meet the first prominent named character.

"Your emotional pain seeps out in your words, and it hurts to hear them, hurts to read them. I sense what is inside that troubles you, yet also there is so much better there too, bravery, tenacity. You hold on like a fighter, every morning rising at the ringing of the bell." cold hands press against my cheeks and draw my face upwards, "I can offer you a brighter horizon, that one day you'll be free of all this. One day there will be choice, freedom and security of food, shelter on a healthy Earth."

The face of whatever this thing is, hides behind a thin veil. "Everything you had would come back to you. All you have to do is let me in. Let me in, and I can fix it all," the world around this...Thing shifts and I can feel something burn behind my eyes as fingernails dragged across my lower eyelids, the world around me changes and distorts when I look at it, and this creature looms in the centre. This thing floats waiting for some response to its deal, soft whispers of comfort and safety linger in the air " _Let me in_ ,"

Again the world shifts but this time fading in and out like a slowly blinking light, the voice continues to whisper and demand that I 'let them in'. But my mind focuses on the fading world, and as the blackness begins to linger I mutter a firm ' _No_ ' then all shifts away and I am lying on the floor by my father barely aware of what is going on.

I feel almost feral when I fully wake, hands threading through my hair and snagging on knots that should not be there, crust from sleep irritating my skin as I clean it away. It all feels too ordinary too plain as if nothing had changed. Like vegemite and cheese for lunch, it makes me frustrated and tugs at something painful in my chest, but with my father asleep beside me my mind wonders.

I felt the heat, the pain, the end. I felt myself die, I know I did we all did. There was no actual way for us to have lived through that...That nightmare, maybe this is purgatory. Perhaps this is that life after death that people used to follow before they abandoned those ideas, but maybe we are alive, and maybe we have a second chance at this, but right now I think we need time. Time to heal, time to mourn, time to gather who we are and get everything inline before attempting to live again.

We are the dead men walking, or well Deadmen resting, but we are still moving still making marks on time even if they are smaller then a grain of sand. My mind is drawn from the thoughts of all that could be, and all that might be in time as the opening to the small tent moves and a new stranger stands in the light.

" **You there!** You able to swing an axe? Move wood? You able to bloody move at all?" rough and almost British in tone the voice booms even in the small space, a muted nod and I am yanked from the tent with a grunt and a shove in the other direction. Others mill about in the short dirt patch of tents, carrying wood, stone, cloth, and other bits and pieces the owner of the voice was a bald man with slightly bushy facial hair. He shoved an axe into my hands and set off with a huff of ' _come on then_ ' as my only hint to follow him.

Trailing after the man we ended up in a small section just behind the mass of tents and firepits, six others were waiting there for us, and the moment we arrived work began. I spent most of the time just quartering the sections of wood brought to me, no one spoke, no one interacted bar the odd ' _Give me a hand here_ ' or ' _New logs coming in!_ ' the repetitive acts kept my mind from wandering too far into my loss again.

I chopped wood maybe four times in my life, and they were all for long periods after we removed a tree or went to help on our grandfather's farm.

I spent the day working with the woodsmen, chopping wood and hauling about things that needed moving. This would help, this would give me something other than being alone with my father and the loss.

"Everyone finish up! We're done for today!" another loud vaguely British voice calls from somewhere beyond the stack of wood behind me, several other workers pack away bits and pieces before moving back into the tent city. " **Hey, you!** Give us a hand moving this stuff will ya!" the same man that brought me out here is waving me over to the pile of wood we had quartered at the start of the day.

It was maybe two hours later that I stood staring blankly at a section of a snowbank. Snow, I have never in my thirty years seen snow, cold and useless was all I know about snow, well that and don't eat red or yellow snow. Still snow, I am lost in my thoughts about what people had said to me once about the horrid white powder when through the white torrent came a stark swathe of blue.

The pale stranger.

In the fading light of day, the blue of his clothing seems more black, like the last time I saw him. Tracing my eyes up across his form I catch detail that was lost the last time I saw him, the edges trimmed with gold thread and a heavy red sash sits in the centre of the whole look. Looking up to his face I see the soft features framed by strands of his hair, "It is good to see you up and about," again I am struck by how familiar his voice is.

"Yet you should take it easy, when we found you, you were half buried under some rubble," He looks to the left as the sound of clacking metal comes and passes where we stand.

"Who Are You?" my voice cracks as I speak, the lack of use more than likely lending to the harsh edge that my words will hold till I take to talking regularly again. The strangers head snaps back to me with my question, a look of shocked joy settled across his face. "It is good to see that you are taking to speech again, but I apologise for the lack of introduction," the stranger take a step back and bends his head slightly before speaking again.

" I am Orsino, currently one of the few healers assigned to the masses," a smile settles onto his face when he looks at me again.

"Orsino..." a familiar name but only barely, small thoughts about somewhere grim come to me, but nothing is indeed giving me an idea of why he is familiar. The smile on his face grows brighter after I speak, "T-thank you for all you have done, but I should find my way back to dad," I had only been standing to stare at the snow out of curiosity. And because I could not find my way back to the tent, I woke up in.

"Oh of course! If I may, I can show you the way. I had gotten lost in the mess of these tents when I first got here as well," he seemed so chipper in contrast to my sullen and closed off expressions, "shall we?" an arm as an offering of safety and we are off weaving through the tent city back to my dad.

Back to the silent mourning.

Back to the last piece of home I have.


	5. Faces and Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another primary player, the names of the main character, and some info how she met her previous lover.

Ten years ago I smiled as I walked; now I long for those times passed. People march like soldiers, eyes hard, mouth set in a grim line. When I was younger, I beamed at everyone, friend and stranger. I slapped backs and shook hands, chatted over nothing and everything. Where have our souls gone? It is as if they have been driven so deep into the person that they cannot surface at all, even within our families as they used to.

Is this how we live? Or just how we survive?

I was lost in my thoughts for most of the walk alongside Orsino; he never pulled on my arm when I stopped suddenly, he just stayed with me and carried on when I began moving again. I mention this because I have come to a stop once again, I don't know what has me stopping, but I feel the need just to halt and wait for something or someone to pass like suddenly seeing a wall when turning a corner I just had to stop.

"Are you all right? I understand your legs are not quite ready for long periods of walking," the arm that had been helping guide me along the way soon became the arm holding me steady as the world spun, "Perhaps we should get you back to the healing tents. Your father might be there as well, " when I look up at him to respond the concern is clear as day.

"Perhaps," again my voice is hoarse when I respond. Still, his face lights up with a small amount of joy when I speak; I am guided away from the patch of dirt we had been standing on for the past two or so minutes. Moving back through the mess of tents was trying to say the least people were loitering about along the side paths all clamouring to look over each other with murmurs of 'the herald' or 'Chosen of Andras-' my curiosity of the murmurs dies when Orsino guides me further away from the people lining the roadsides.

" **Vehk! Vehk!** Honestly that girl and her daydream-" a strange short man comes to a halt in front of us, " -eeems, Orsino your back. You saw Vehk on the way here?" Orsino shakes his head, and the short man huffs before rushing off into the tent city calling for this 'Vehk' person. "Vehk is his working partner; the two are usually inseparable-" the flaps of the tent are drawn back, and several people lie on small cots and others on the ground by the entrance. "-but I guess she has run off to see someone. Now here we go, let's get you down on here and look at what still lingers that is might be causing you pain," I am sat on a small bench and left alone for a moment.

The area beyond the tent was covered in a thick blanket of white; statutes peeked out under their new white caps, footsteps and paw prints crisscrossed each other around the labyrinth of paths. Aside from the brown of the denuded trees, the only different colour was the bright crimson staining the flags and tents around the landscape. I am lost in looking at the white scene in front of us till the blue of Orsino's robes takes front and centre in my vision.

"I'm going to roll up your pant legs, tell me if anything hurts as I do," he kneels before me and begins, but my mind wanders off to another time someone else did something just like this for me.

_Dark brown hair pulled back into a bun, a soft smile as she looks up at me before shaking her head and calling me silly, gentle fingers wrap the bandage around my leg when I laugh and tell her that I lose my head when she is around. The soft hand on my cheek when she presses her head to mind and sighs 'One day. One day you will come home to me without any bumps or bruises'._

When I blink the pale man becomes my warm smiling girl, then I look again, and she is gone just like she has been for the last six years. I barely register what Orsino has done to my legs when he looks up at me. "It is just some minor bruising left over; you have recovered remarkably fast for such heavy injury," when he stands I pull my pants back down and mutter a thank you, "We should get you back to your father now, he need not worry more about where you are,"

Again I am up and being guided away but Orsino, an arm for safety and for balance as we walk but this time he does not remain quiet as we trek onwards. Rambling sentences about this and that person that I don't know quite murmurs about something or other just words to fill the silence when we reach what I assume to be the tent my father is in.

"Thank you, Orsino,"

I move to enter the tent, but his voice catches before I can. "If I may, you know my name, but we have not been introduced. Who are you?"

"I-I'm-" my mind drifts to my father's words, 'you have changed', and I feel wrong saying my birth name like it would taste of dirt and ash in my mouth when spoken. "I'm Louis," he smiles at me again and nods slightly before bidding me goodbye. It may not be my first name, but it is still one of my titles give to me.

My father lays in the tent still sleeping just as he was this morning, yet his hair is a tangled mess clinging to his face and clothes. The last time I saw him like this was when I was younger, and we had just come home from Oma's, he was so tired afterwards that he just napped on the couch almost all night. I take my place from earlier and settle in on the mat next to him, a soft murmur of ' _little one_ ' is all I get before he drifts off back to sleep.

I am quick to join him in rest.

As my consciousness ebbed, and my mind went into free fall, swirling with the beautiful chaos of a treasured memory.

The first rally I attended, the first time I took to the streets with my friends and protested the war. The day I met my partner, I was standing arm in arm with people I didn't know, voices I had never heard before, and yet we were singing the same song yelling the same words when the police came to break us apart. I can see her face as I run past the green-tinted smoke we had thrown to help us scatter, an arm around her waist and the words **_'Come on'_** yelled as I pulled her off into an alleyway with a few others that followed after me.

I watch as the police cars race down the street behind us and look down to see messy brown hair piled atop the head of the woman pressing her face into my shoulder. I watch as she lifts her head and laughs, _'We almost got caught...but I feel **alive!** '_ we laugh together and the others in our group laugh bar one.

I don't recognise his face.

It's new in an old setting dark red-brown hair in a messy group of braids that have been gathered into an almost ponytail, I catch his eye, and he disappears when another passes by to grab hold of one of the others in this group.

_'We need to go, but like not altogether'_ I have let the woman that would be my partner go and people slowly group off and leave the ally way only myself and her remain. As we move I look over my should just as I did on the actual day and I catch sight of him again, the strange man that was never there, but the voice of my partner draws my mind from him when she asks _'So whats your name then rebel?'_

_'Me? oh, you can call me honey, but if that doesn't work then its Erinn, Yeah?'_ she laughs, and I don't remember what happens next.


	6. Reality and Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little from the father and set up for the next section.

Waking up can be harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. The saddest part of it is, though, that eventually, even the memory of my dream will fade - if I'm even lucky enough to remember it that is. Then you're left with this lonely feeling of detachment, left to explore in the empty void of emotions, the only proof that you ever had the dream, to begin with.

I know it's early when there is no light struggling to get past the small opening of the tent. I can hear the drum of rain on the material keeping us warm and safe, looking over I find my father sitting by the open tent flaps hand stretched out into the mist, it is nice to see him up and about even if 'about' only means off of his mat like bed.

From where I sit I can see the mess that his hair has become, tangled like mine used to before I shave most of it away. " _Dad..._ " a soft whisper barely there against the sounds of the rain and the morning but still he hears it and turns to me, "Morning Luigi. A bit like Melbourne isn't it?" he sounds worse then I had thought he would, broken like me but so much worse. We lost our family, our home, our people, and now we are lost somewhere new I don't like my father can take much more after all he has had to endure in his life, East Timor, UN deployments, police raids, opa's betrayal, oma's stroke, and now this.

His wife is dead, his son gone, most immediate family all just carbon shadows somewhere we will never see again, I don't think he can take anymore needs to have something to draw him out of this all. "Kinda dad, kinda," I still sound like I have been punched in the throat, but when I come and sit by him the croaks of my voice seem so small against the humming tune of some song that I barely know the name of.

Our time sitting and watching the rain come to an end as the same bald man from yesterday comes by with axe in hand, it is a sharp motion at me with the precise meaning of **_'let's go'_** that had me moving away from dad and into the rain.

A kiss on the hand I held and a soft but sad smile to him when I left were my promise to come home.

Watching my daughter disappear into the rain felt like watching her go back to those rallies with her voice ringing on and on about the war, but this time as she goes I can feel the pain of her leaving just as I did when she was little and ran away from home. I know she will come back I know she is not gone forever, but in the back of my mind something calls to me that this is all a dream, she is dead, I am gone. There is no point to any of this I try not to listen to that voice, but it seems so loud when she leaves.

" _Stay safe little one,_ " words to the rain still pouring outside, but through the storm and the quiet of the tents around us comes to a familiar strange face. Not the pale man that guided my daughter and me to these tents but a very tan man with the grace of nobility in his steps, he dresses in scruffy clothes and walks like a wealthy man. I knew people like that back when I was younger, dangerous and tricky the lot of them, but with nothing but my daughter and the ever-looming despair of my loss I cannot find it in myself to care.

" **You there!** How steady are your hands?" this tan stranger stands before the tent and squints down at me when he comes to a halt, "Well? Are they steady?" I nod, and this man nods in return before turning and striding away only to look back and call ' **Well! Come along!** ' when I do not follow imminently.

It has been a long time since I have been under anyone's orders bar my own and yet I am scrambling to my feet and following this man out of the mess of tents. Laws and commands mean my grief can be silent, a guided activity means I will no longer see the sadness pool in my daughter's eyes when I look at her.

In this family, we do not mourn as we should.

**We endure till we can bare no more.**

Off at the edge of the Tents where wood lies in stacks and axes swing as people work away the day, I run between stations clearing each pile as they were called complete. Two others run in front of me and do the same we take stacks upon stacks to a church at the back of this town, the people within only point to a corner or fireplace before turning their backs on us. Apparently, a trait shared by religious people even here and yet the symbols and designs that hang about the building don't match any I have seen before.

When I linger slightly another us three grabs my shoulder and pulls me out the door, muttering that 'Leave the shems to their god, we have our own to follow'. I didn't understand why till we finished for the day, once again delivering the wood to the church building but it was as we left and I accidentally ran into an armoured person that some things were made clear to me.

One the person in question was bald, not that it was something unusual, it was the fact that they lacked any hair that brought a prominent feature to my attention. 

Two their ears **point!**

And three, armour. Old medieval leather armour.

The people I have been running with all day are elves, things of fiction and stories. Something my father used to talk about when I was a child, how many people had I seen and ignored this fact? How did I miss it for this long? How could I have been so blind? And better yet if there are elves here, where are we?

In the aftermath of the run in, I mumbled an apology to the person and made to run off, but the words spoken to me added more thoughts of the 'where' and the 'how' atop the questions of 'why.' 

"Pay more attention; the other scouts may not be so lenient with a lone elven woman..." 


	7. Of wounds and pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit from the eyes of the father.

It has been a long time since I have had to follow orders, even longer since I held another steady to save their life. Yet here I am in a strange tent, with strange people, holding a young man steady as the tan stranger does something to his abdomen. There is no blood, I can't feel the warm liquid on my hands nor does it stain the boys clothing, and the person I am holding is a boy barely old enough to be on their own and yet here they are alone with strangers trying to help.

I feel when he grabs my hand and squeezes, a tight and weak grip on the fingers of my free hand, I want to say something tell this child that he will be fine but the words die on my lips when I look down at him. He looks like Karl, he looks like my boy but the moment he cries out that changes, he is a stranger again a stranger with familiar brown eyes, not my son. No, my son is dead and gone and I should be too, not my daughter, myself or anyone was meant to live after the war and yet here we are, living on when they are at rest.

The tan stranger is quick to move on leaving the boy with a woman referred to as _'sister'_ , at least these people have their religion they haven't lost hope in a higher power as we did. As I did, I left the military, had my children, raised them, showed them how to be independent during the start of the war, I ordained my daughters marriage, saw her walk down the aisle to her wife, held her as we said goodbye when her wife passed away, I was a soldier and a priest and now I am a lost man.

The next person I am told to hold still is a young woman, her ears point like my daughters do, so much has changed and she has yet to see it. I woke before she did, saw more of those around us then she did, I have seen the differences of the people here how elves and dwarves live.

**_This is not home._ **

This woman cries and claws at the fabric of my arm as the stranger sees to her legs, from the way they rest and the lack of movement below her hips she will never walk again, in her cries I hear my wife calling for me to go to bed or to come help with something and as they fall into whimpers I no longer hear anything familiar.

I can feel the moisture on my cheeks when we move again, I don't know how long they drip for or how many people see me holding and helping with tears staining my face and I can't bring myself to care.

When we finish I am empty, too many times did I see my family in the people that tent, too long was I crying. I stand outside the tent staring at the banks of mud from the rain and the sunken prints of those that had walked there, behind me I hear another leave the tent and come to stand beside me "You were most helpful," ahh it is the stranger who is out here again.

"I believe that with some guidance you could be a permanent fixture in the healing tent, but not without some education first," I don't look at him when he speaks and he does not look at me, "But there are other places you could help, and keep **her** safe. Yet whether you do or not is dependant on you, " out of the corner of my eye I can see he has turned slightly towards me blue eyes stark again his skin.

"But first, My name is Solas if there are to be introductions," there is no offered hands or general display of introduction beyond those words.

"Boris," just like my daughter my voice is rough and scratchy from the lack of speaking.

A slight sneer and a nod from the stranger called Solas, and then he is gone back into the tent, dressed in rags and sneering like a rich man he does not seem to fit at least not within the mass of tents and ruined wooden walls. I stand in front of the tent for a while longer and watch the people come and go through the mud til a familiar face appears amongst them, my little one.

Her face twisted in thought and clearly not watching where she is going, weaves through the crowd bare feet slapping in the mud. My heart warms as I see her, she is safe and whole here and not in the tent behind me wounded or dying.

She, she is walking straight into another person.

A familiar person none the less.

Blue robs shift slightly when she does and the pale stranger that helped us at the beginning of all of this holds her shoulders when she bounces slightly, a soft smile on his face as he says something only to be met with a wide-eyed stare from my daughter. As I make my way towards them the pale stranger's words become clearer, "Ahh Louise you should pay a bit more attention to where you walk, the soldiers aren't as forgiving as one would think," he drops a hand from her shoulder and smiles again.

"Shall I escort you back into the tents? I find myself lacking in tasks for the moment," There is no clear response from my daughter but the stranger begins leading her away back into the mess of cloth and firepits, I am quick or as quick as I can be at my age to follow behind them. This stranger may have the best at heart but my daughter is all I have left and I will not lose her as well, no matter the kindness this man has shown us I have known men to do the most horrific of things with the same kind smile across their faces.

When I do catch up to the stranger and my daughter, she is standing in front of the empty tent simply holding a section of its fabric.

I reach for her when a voice calls out from behind us " _ **Louise! He is behind you!**_ "

My daughter looks over to me and something on her face shifts, then her arms are wrapped around my waist and her head resting against my chest. She is so cold and when she cries the tears are scalding through my shirt onto my skin, " _Dad..._ "

"Dad where are we?" Her voice is weak and between the soft sobs and the muffling of where she presses her face to me, I hear her words.

" **Far** , far from home little one."


	8. Of People and Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time from the daughters perspective and a bit on her backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG MC THANKIES TO MAYA AGAIN!

When I round the corner my skin is ashen, lips almost blue in this cold downpour. My limbs move as if some inexperienced person is controlling them remotely and my eyes are wide, looking at everything and everyone, but do not really see those in front of me.

I place a hand on my chest, I can still feel the frigid cold surrounding my heart. I know it’s there, but right now I can’t feel it beating anymore. Some say you find purpose in the simplicity of your heartbeat. But I no longer know where my purpose lies.

I am afraid, I guess. I can no longer be certain of anything as I once was.

I am afraid of going completely numb, but I am also afraid of feeling. Because, quite frankly, feeling hurts. Feeling is what makes you go numb in the first place. Every breath I take now is filled with the icy air. It pains me so much as it spreads the cold blood through my veins. The coldness of my heart blurs my vision, rimming everything in black.

I feel **lost**.

Not even the squelching of the mud under my feet draws me from my thoughts. My chest is tight and my eyes sting with the need to cry and yet I don't. I just keep going, keep moving.

Elves, Dwarves, things of fantasy. No, not anymore, tales of such things were part of my childhood and now every corner I turn ears that point and short, stout people seem to bleed from the shadows. How did I miss this for so long? Could I have been that blind? Two days and I did not once see that glaring difference? My loss is even heavier now that I can see just how much has been lost: my family, my home, and now my world too.

I thought life could no longer pull its rug out from under me and yet, here again I am scrambling, trying to find my footing as life laughs in the distance mocking me.  

There is a thud and I am jolted from my thoughts, blue and gold fill my vision. Hands hold my shoulders and a voice fills my ears. "Oh careful, wouldn't want to go falling in this mess!" Orsino. Looking at him again I am reminded of just how blind I was to those around me. Just like all the others, I have seen, his ears point.

He is an elf and I am blind.

"Ahh! Louise, you should pay a bit more attention to where you walk, the soldiers aren't as forgiving as one would think!" It took him a moment to recognise me. But the moment he did, a soft smile settles on his face. You would think from the way he looks at me that I was a dear friend or at least someone of importance to him.

I doubt that my owlish look and lack of response would add to that particular type of relationship.

"Shall I escort you back into the tents? I find myself lacking in tasks for the moment."

He is still smiling at me, a hand on my shoulder and head slightly craned to look at me. A muted nod and we are off back into the mess of tents and fires that seem to burn regardless of the rain still pouring down around us, about halfway he begins again with the endless chatter about people I don't know and things that have apparently gone wrong today.

I don't care. I can't bring myself to care.

"Orsino?"

"Hmm? Oh sorry, I am rambling again aren't,"

"I just want to be back with my dad."

A short hum and silence falls between us again for what is left of the distance to the tent, but once we reach the open flaps its empty.

My father, gone! No longer watching the rain or sleeping the day away. Where did he go? Is he okay? My thoughts are stopped when Orsino places a hand on my shoulder again. "Wait here. I might know where he is." Another nod and I listen as the rain hits the cloth of the tent.  He's gone. My dad is gone. I am alone in this strange place with strange fairytale races. I know nothing of what is to come. My mind races with thoughts of a such a nature until Orsino's voice cuts through them again.

 

" **Louise! He is behind you!** "

 

I turn to look and there he is, safe, soaked and very much here.

It has been some time since I wrapped myself around my father and cried into his shirt, my tears now dry and their tracks itch on my face as we sit dripping at the entrance of the tent. Dad has been humming some song for the past few minutes and I have stayed curled into his chest letting thoughts of whats next consume me. "I want to go home, Dad. I want to go home!" The hands around my shoulders rock me gently even as I cling tighter to my dad.

The rain has stopped and in the silence noises of people going about their nightly chores has begun to fill the air. I don't remember much after that as I drifted to sleep in my father's arms; mind filled with a longing for home.

I dream of my brother this time, the first day we lived away from home. He was working in a cafe and I was studying for my second certification, the war had barely reached our home in the south and you could tell as people didn't speak of the problems overseas.

Ignorance is bliss after all, and we were ignorant. But only for a little while, I opened my eyes when halfway through my studies the course closed as the bank behind the school stopped allowing access to funds, but my brother stayed blind for so much longer. He never saw what was happening till he was called to tell him I was in the hospital, two gunshot wounds and some minor bruising, he stayed blind till the war almost took his sister from him.

He was still blind when I married my wife, though we were too young to do this, too wild with the ' _rebel_ ' crowd. I dream of my wedding often: that day standing at the altar dressed in my suit watching my girl walk towards me, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her hair curled around he face, small gold flowers a crown on her head. I dream of the way our families cheered when we kissed.

One good thing in the sea of bad.

I cradle her face and we dance; my childhood home has not been this lively since my dad got married almost 10 years ago. I dream about the way we collapse into bed afterwards, no desire for the consummation. Just the need to be close to each other, the feel of her tucked in close to me when we drift off to sleep.

The edges blur and I am no longer holding her after our wedding smiling. No, I am holding her after the riot that almost killed me and took her from me. Blood soaks into her clothes from where the group lashed out, no guns among them just knives and bats. She got slashed across the back as we ran and I took the blows meant for her, familiar faces turning away from us.

Would be friends looking away when I scream and she falls.

I dream of the moment some person weaves through the crowd and brings his blade down.

I always thought she looked lovely in red but not like that. Never like that. It pooled in her clothing and stained mine, there are gunshots and the crowd scatters. Some running and others charging towards the now responding police.

I held her as she died, crying for her to open her eyes and look at me. Whispering that it would all be okay even when they took her away in a bag.

I dream of the moment I am there sitting on the asphalt, stained with her blood, tears running down my face as officers and medics aid the other around me. A blanket falls over my shoulders and something around me shifts, the ground is still hard and unyielding and yet something feels warm underneath it.

A whisper on the wind from somewhere below me follows the sudden shift.

 

" _ **Wake up**_."


	9. A Days Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't like the other one.

It has been near a month since I dreamt of the day my wife died.

Waking up is no longer the pleasure it was.

There is a fleeting moment when I am whole again, but it evaporates faster than summer rain off the earth. Then my lids that were drooping and leaden with sleep snap open as violently as if I'd been woken by the raid sirens wailing again. There haven't been bombs for weeks, nor will there be.

Only half the tents of the area remain standing, and they were once crowded with grieving survivors. Now many have moved on returning to their life outside this mountain village, those of us that remain have been absorbed into the recovering town and the group that has been born here.

We were one of them, one of the dispossessed.

When the panic of bombs that will never fall fades from my mind, the noises from outside the small tent come filtering in, telling me it is time to begin the day.

By the time I go to leave my father has already run off to do whatever it is that calls him during the daylight hours; waking up without him is jarring, one day he is sitting watching the rain, and the next he is gone after I wake. But this is the first time I have awoken, and he was not here with me, I am bolting out of the tent and crashing into another person. Broad shoulders and a firm grip is what remains of the thought of them in my rush to find my father; I was in a frenzy with little care for the person I had run into. Or the people I ran into afterwards.

I found him later sitting outside another tent holding a bunch of cloth stained with something foul; I will admit the way I swept him up way less than advised, but the relief I felt with him in my arms was immediate.

He laughed after that. Laughed, as if everything was alright and I had not just been running around the camp for the last hour and a half in search of him, the last time I remember him laughing was when I got married he laughed at my speech about how my wife and I met. Hearing it again now settles a warmth in me when I put him down, looking up at him and his smile he laughs again, "Little one, I haven't seen you scurry about like that since you were younger. What has got you bolting like a dolt?"

" **You!** You do! I get up and your there, but today I get up, and you're gone!"

Another laugh and I'm wrapped up in his arms for a moment, "Little one, I was asked to help out here. Remember the days back when you were tiny, and I used to go and help at the army base?"

"Vaguely, dad I was probably like _7_ , what are you doing the same thing here now?"

"Yes, I am doing the same stuff just more simple versions. You had First aid yeah?"

"Yes dad, you had me call straight after I posted about the heroin guy getting hit by the tram,"

"Right yes, so I am doing a mix of first aid and my plant oil stuff, "

"You're doing _weed_ here too?"

"I- **No!** It's not weed, but well it sort of _looks_ like it but nevermind okay. All you need to know is that you will be waking up on your own from now on, you can do that I know you can, "

"I know. I know but dad, be safe,"

"I am always safe little one, well except for...I will be okay,"

"Thank you," the hug I get afterwards is bone crushing, or as bone-crushing as a sixty-year-old man can give, and it leaves me happy if not a little bit calmer after it all. But that calm is broken when someone exits the tent calling for my father, I jump and pull my father behind me when his name is called loudly by my ear.

" **Boris!** _Where could he have run off to now? Bloody rags aren't_ -Oh there you are," A stranger with striking features peers at my father behind me, before casting a brief look across my admittedly dishevelled appearance "Your daughter I assume?"

"Yep, the last of my line and the strangest," My father moves away from my grasp and walks back towards the tent and this new stranger, "Little one meet Solas, he's the one who got me helping here. Solas this is as you guessed my daughter,"

Solas, a not so unknown person now. Sharp blue eyes once again a once-over of my form before huffing and gesturing to my father and me to move slightly further away from the opening of the tent, after we are left standing with this new person in silence.

"I have heard little about you from your father, and yet Orsino seems taken by your character. Perhaps you will come and help alongside your father, Hmm?"

"Ahh No, I am already out swinging an axe and doing the whole. _The whole woodsmen thing_ , so no," My father laughs again, and this Solas looks back towards him with a huff. "You're the one looking after him yeah?" a brief nod from solas is all I get in response.

"Take care of him, I may not ah _look_ like much, but I will throw hands if he gets hurt,"

"Throw-Right I see, you need not worry as such your father is safe with me-" his face clouds slightly before he speaks again "-and a word of warning. Do not threaten me, not even in jest it will not end well for you," when he turns and walks away there is a sharp feeling of cold, like leaving a warm building and feeling the temperature drop. My father sighs and looks over at me with one of those dad looks of 'Really? You did that?' before putting a hand on my shoulder and shaking his head.

"Thank you little one but, I will be fine and so will you," another loud call sounds nearby, and a familiar shape comes towards us weaving between people coming and going.

Orsino.

His blue robes stark against the dirt road, as he comes striding towards us. "Louise! Just the person I was looking for but not where I was expecting, you never seem to be as of late, but I am rambling. Oh, I don't believe we have been fully introduced yet, I am Orsino one of the other healers across the way," his smile is bright, and he and my father shake hands before he turns back towards me.

"Well by the fact that you are over here and not at the wood yard I would think you have met Solas. I admit he is not the easiest to bare at the best of times, but he's a good healer. Now, have you eaten?"

"No. I don't feel hungry, not right now anyway, "

"Little One. Go eat; you can't miss meals,"

The Grey haired elf scrunches up his nose slightly at my father's tone, before holding a hand out to me. "Regardless of not feeling hungry will you come with me to the tavern? I admit I am curious about you, after all, you do rarely speak of yourself,"

"Go on Little one; I have to go and find out what Solas needs now, be safe and I'll see you later on,"

Orsino and I watch my father leave, disappearing back into the tent leaving us and the offer of better understanding lingering in the air. "I-I will admit it is intentional my lack of self-explanation, but sure I'll come with you, not much to do here anyway. Well not anymore,"


	10. A Moment of Peace

I rest my hand on the rough paintwork that coats the door and push. Rough wooden splinters cut into my palm; shards of paint crumble to the floor. The hinges squeal as though they are a warning, but a wall of noise silences their plea. Laughter overpowers the calls from those outside. Conversations swirl in a dirty cloud, the stagnant stench of people, hides within the collaboration of mephitic odours. A sharp smell of drink wafts towards me, like black plumes billowing from the windows of a burning house.

There’s even a hint of _sick_ tainting the fragrance of the room.

The tables cluttered with people chatting and laughing, each a separate world to the one next to it and yet they seemed to flow into one another like a patchwork shirt. It is familiar in a way, like thinking about when you were a child at family gatherings it has a kind of warmth to it though that might be Orsino pressed to my side as he leads us through the mess of people and towards the back of the building. From deep inside my chest, through every cell of my body, the warmth welcomed me like an old friend, the people, the sounds, and even just the pull of another guiding me along feels right.

The table Orsino takes us too is small, and out of the way or as out of the way it could be in this mess. Two chairs and two small glasses of warm cider later I am sitting listening to Orsino talk about his time before the inquisition, he stops and starts jumping over events and hesitating on names of people as though he expects me to fill in the blanks, my silence seems to be a relief to him. It is strange to see him, so _solum_ , every interaction with him to date has been positive as though these things he had spoken about never happened as if the time between the end of this ' _ **Kirkwall incident**._ ' never happened as if his life was stopped, reset and then restarted with only sections of the past in place.

He asks about my past, and I tell him a little, bits and pieces. The names of my youngest nephews, the warmth of my hometown, my friends from my teen years, I tell him of my wife, and he hums in understanding. He speaks to me of times in the circle when life was okay when his close friends were still around and before he took up a leading position. Time passes by as we trade small section of our lives it is pleasant to talk about things from home without the person understanding just how much has been lost.

Orsino will likely never understand my loss and I will never understand his, but here in the back of this bar that doesn't matter. Here we are just two people stuck in place after a great tragedy, two people hurting in silence while the world moves onwards.


	11. A day and a Night

Night had fallen fast upon the land.

No more than an hour ago the sky was painted with hues of red, orange and pink, but all colour had faded leaving only a matt black canvas with no stars to be looked upon. The darkness was thick and the torched lit the path allowing me to see at most an arm’s reach in front of myself.

Other than the darkness all that seemed to exist was the chilly wind that’s harsh bite could be felt through my clothes. Orsino and I had long since parted ways he returned to the tent he works in and I to the work yard to help cut the last of the wood for the day when the night began to creep in on us still chopping logs. The cold didn't reach us until we stopped working and even then it was biting but soothing after the long hours spent just continuously moving. When I left the area, we have taken to calling the work yard two others came with me, another elven woman and the bland man that first dragged me into the job.

Thomas and Mirrie were their names, and they joked back and forth about watching me run about the town in the morning laughing when my face flushes. It is the first time I have had another with me when I have left the yard, and though they will never replace the friends I lost back home, maybe these two will become just as important as they were. But Thomas pointed something out just before we reached the tent I was in with my dad I am freakishly tall.

"So Loui. How did an elf like you get so damned tall? Aren't you lot meant to be small and shite?" luckily we had come to a stop by one of the few firepits going unused but still lit for the night when he asked, "Is it that wild elf magic? You look kinda like them wild ones just without the tattoos," I will admit I blinked a few times and let out a decently dragging 'ahhh' before I answered him.

"I have always been this tall? Is like 6ft tall for you, cause my dad is 6ft 5, and he is why I am this tall," Mirrie was laughing when I finished, and I suppose Thomas was not satisfied with the response, well going off the shaking head and sigh I assume it was not good enough. "What? my mum was 5ft 8, and most of my family meet about 6ft or over," more laughter this time from both of the people standing with me.

"Loui, elves don't usually get past 5'9. You're giant even compared to half-blooded elves-its like comparing an avvar to a normal human. It's just so obvious," Mirrie gives one final shake of her head before saying goodnight and disappearing off into the few tents further away from where we stood. "She's right you know, it's like looking at those avvar folks. that what you and your dad are avvar elves?" I have no idea what an avvar is or what it has to do with my height, but I shake my head at Thomas and shrug slightly hoping this is a good enough answer for him.

"But that doesn't matter to me, as long as you can swing an axe and help cut the lumber your right by me. See you in a days time Loui,"

"Wait, what? A days time you mean tomorrow yeah?"

"Almost forgot you elves don't come to the services, tomorrow is a free day cause its the service day,"

"Service? like Mass or something?"

"Ahh yeah I guess, night Loui stay safe," I am left alone at the fire when Thomas walks off towards the massive gates of the town, I wonder what brought on all those questions? Is my height that strange? My thoughts are filled with such matters as I make my way into the tent, dad is asleep by the time I am full inside and settled on the mat I had been given. At least he has settled in nicely, working in an aid station and making connections with...sharp characters, perhaps we can make it here settle down help with whatever the problem seems to be and live the rest of our lives.

My head has become foggy, like that time when alcohol takes me into oblivion, but I haven't drunk a drop. It's as if every eyelash weighs more than it should and gravity has been turned up tenfold. In moments I acquiesce and slide into sleep.

The ghost was more silent than the grave it arose from, starting with heavy-lidded eyes and a slack mouth. Her cheekbones accentuated the skeletal look, and in her gaze, my mind was robbed of emotion. Instead of running, or screaming I stood more still than the mossy statue in the heart of the graveyard and just as cold. She beckoned with fingers that rapidly faded to only a suggestion of form.

I passed each stone without taking account of the path until I stood in a place that was unrecognisable.

She became more solid again, but this time her skin bore many silver scars, thick and jagged. I began to think new things, "I want to stay here, forever." The thought became a desire, and my insides lit with an intensity to make it possible. My body crumpled to the dirt, leaves and mud met the side of my face and my knees curled up like an unborn. It was then I heard someone shout my name, over and over.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing would come. They were frantic, yelling, scared.

The basement was pitch black; I was as blind as if my eyes had been gouged. My body washed cold. I brought my fingers to my eye sockets; they were still there. I turned back to the stairs and tried to run up, but my foot fell through each one like it was a mere projection. So how had I walked down them?

I leant forward to touch the stairs and felt fabric fall down my arm, soft and velvety. Cold metal rubbed my forehead; one grope told me it was a pointed hat, like a fairy tale crown. I grabbed it, and a mirror appeared in front of me, glowing like a television screen.

It was my wife, broken face and all, dressed like some picture book queen.

“We all die sometime,” Without sight of any knife in the mirror; the image began to bleed from the neck. She raised her hand to feel the sticky warm fluid about her throat. I screamed; the image laughed.

I woke to tears falling my cheeks and my dad holding me close, soft murmurs of German and hushed whispers of 'it's okay' as I am pressed into his shoulder. I am shaking and admittedly making a mess of snot and tears on my father's shirt when the clanking of steel comes to a halt by the entrance of the tent. "Is everything alright in there?" the tent flaps open and light from a lantern fills the tent making us flinch from the sudden change, "Just a nightmare, sorry to cause a fuss,". I am still pressed to my father's shoulder when the guard and dad finish their conversation, with a huff of ' _damned knife ears_ ' and a rush of cold air as the tent closes once more.

"Little one?"

"yeah..."

"You good?"

"If I say yes will you believe me?"

"No, not falling for that again,"

"Then no dad, I'm not good. Just, I had a dream about her again,"

More soft humming and a little song later and we are back to sleep, I love my father and his moments of comfort. When I wake again, dad is gone, and his blanket is wrapped around me just like he used to when I was younger and prone to constant nightmares, it's a familiar touch when everything is still so unfamiliar. We don't have much in the way of clothes, not that it mattered three shits between us and two sets of pants was all we had bar the shoes on our feet and the tent over our head. Stepping out of the tent and into the day a few people pass by and nod before scurrying off to whatever it is they do.

I am standing by the exit of the remaining tents when I am jolted slightly, the jolt is followed by an 'oof.' Turning to look at the person or well I thought it was a child at first because they ran into my knees, but upon looking back at them, I was met with a dwarven male. A mess of blonde hair, half open shirt, and a hand pressed to their forehead before they looked up at me "you...Okay?" I admit I may have dragged out my words slightly.

"I didn't realise you were there, ahh?"

"Louise, or Loui if you must,"

"Right, well sorry for walking into you,"

"Nah it's fine, have a day I guess?"

"Have a day?"

Right people aren't as used to dropping words here, well not like I am used to anyway " _Y-yes?_ " there is a huff of laughter when I respond, not mocking but genuinely entertained. "What am I to curse you for bumping into me? Do I look like the kind of person?" the laughter dies off, and they look up to me with a half smile.

"No, no just people here are running high with tension. Never sure how a person is going to react, but you seem alright Loui. Names Varric, Varric Tethras, and yes I am that Varric Tethras," I turn fully towards him when he finishes speaking to me and by the look on my face I know he gathers that I have no idea who he is or means by 'that Varric Tethras' "Well Loui, Loui? Gotta do something about that, I will see you around not like you are hard to miss," as he beings to walk off I call out " **Whats wrong with my Name!?** "

He turns around and walks backwards slightly before calling back " ** _Just that, It's your name. See you round sketchy!_** " when he reaches the stairs in the town proper he is swallowed by the people coming and going. Another strange man added to the list of people I have met; I think I need some more women on that list honestly, I wonder where Mirrie is today? Thinking of her seemed to bring her forth as I turn and she is there smiling with a 'good morning' following soon after.

My day is spent with Mirrie doing almost anything and everything, moving firewood, helping hang and fold sheets, helping bring in the sections of lumber for the homes in the walls, and even helping take apart parts of the tent city as more people leave or move into the town. By the time the sun begins to set we are sitting on the low walls by a forge, I admit that I don't come to this side of the road what with the work yard and my home tent being on the right-hand side, "So Loui, whats the Anderfells like?"

I snap to look at her, feet kicking back and forth as she watches me. " I'm sorry what?"

"The Anderfells. You know home? I met someone from there a while back when I was still working in Orlais, sounded just like you. So what it like that far north?" she is quick to add more questions before I can even think of answering the current ones, "Is it just desert? No trees or forests and stuff?"

"Yes? I mean where I grew up it was always warm but not a desert-"

"You're from the edges then? I got told that it is tropical around the edges and to the far north of the Anders,"

"-I. Yes? I am from the far north but-"

"You're lucky you know, grew up somewhere warm and mostly dry. I grew up in a little town in Orlais never really warm but not cold ya know?"

"I-I guess?"

"Right tropics, not mild weather,"

Mirrie continues to prattle on about this place or the next little bit and pieces she had been told or had overheard someone else say, there was no real flow to the sentences just run off from one to the next. I thought at one point she might faint due to lack of air, but she just kept going and letting me chime in here and there with hums and questions. When the sun set we had wandered away from the forge and back towards the tents again, I am left at the same point I had encountered Mirrie when she says 'goodnight' and weaves her way back into the mess of tents.

It seems this section of the road is dedicated to running into people, another jolt and an 'oof' later and I am walking with Orsino as he recounts his day. One of the key people came into the healer's tent today with something minor, and people dropped everything to deal with them. I would have found that funny if not for the frustration on Orsino's face as he spoke of the incident, "I understand that they are important and need to be seen too, but one person would have sufficed not six! Maker guide those fools," I doubt that my light pats on his shoulder will genuinely help but it seems to help him in some small way.

"Ah not to sound too wild, but ahhh whats with the whole maker thing? He is like god yeah?" Orsino stops in his tracks when I ask him, the look of confusion that had settled on to his face leads to one of embarrassment on my own. "Do you hold no gods in your heart?" Orsino turns his full attention to me as we close in on the tavern once more, "You truly do not know of the Maker and his Bride?" I admit to blinking owlishly at him and faltering in my words.

"I- _No_? I wasn't raised with a god or gods in my life. I mean dad taught me about some but we lived by the whole 'No gods, No masters' lifestyle," it is once we pass through the door of the tavern that Orsino responds with a curt 'I see', silence follows as I walk behind him.

"What does my worship have to do with anything? It's not like gods around to do anything about it," more silence follows as we once more make our way to the back of the tavern settling into the same small table as before but with an extra chair placed by it. "You know if someone had said such a thing to me years ago I would have debated that, but now-" there was a sigh as he took his seat looking up at me as I moved towards my own "-Now I am not sure anymore,"

"Why do you need to be?"

"It is all I have left really,"

"That-That sounds bad. But you sure that's all that's left?"

"I-Maybe not. But who knows a new day, a life,"

Before our conversation could continue down its path another clear their throat, "May I join you? The other tables are...Lacking,". Orsino seemed eager for company is quick to welcome the additional person, "Of course, please join us Solas. Perhaps your day has been better than my own, now Louise what of your day?"

"It was-Well it was an adventure of sorts."


	12. Contracts and Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Added new tags cause a lot of that is coming, and have started the storyline. (slightly)

I am surprised that it took another month of being here in an unfamiliar place before I got too comfortable with my words and acts, it was just another day in the yard cutting wood and taking it off to whatever home needed a top up, but then the comments started.

'Stupid Knife-ear,'   
and  
'Watch it elfy, won't stand you lot bumping me again,"

I will admit that the third time it happened, I snapped back, albeit to harsh for the simple remark of 'watch where you're going!' all day people refusing to move when we came through with arms of wood, stopping and waiting for us to finish as if us workers were a distraction to their work and none of the others batted an eye at it.

Ignorance of such acts is not something I am known for.

So when a lightly armoured man pushes me over when I attempt to restock a pile of firewood, I snap spinning to throw one solid punch at their jaw.

The man stumbles back slightly before righting himself, folding both arms over his chest.

He didn't look to fear a woman in the least, elf or human. But when I made to move towards him, he was close to changing that disposition when my balled fist collided with his cheekbone again, flaying his neck backward like a willow caught in the wind. As he stumbled, he nearly fell over the bench, rubbing his cheek with his palm. My action indeed took him by surprise.

“What the hell!” he cried, regaining his balance. “Do you want to get yourself arrest– ?”

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?" another voice cuts off the man still cradling his face before he could finish his sentence, the clanking of heavy armour and crunch of snow under a person boots is what drags my eyes from the man and onto this new person. There is a muttering of the word 'captain' as this other man comes to a halt before the two of us, "Well? What has a scout coming running into the practice fields shouting about a fight?" the captains gaze swings between the two of us waiting for a response.

"I punched him, that's all that happened after he disrupted my work,"

"Disrupted your work?"

"Stacking the wood for the tavern, he pushed me over while I was stacking,"

I can see the discomfort on his face as he listens to me speak. Clearly, something is wrong with what I said, or maybe he just doesn't like that an elf knocked one of his men about over some wood. "Right. Scout return to the training yard I'll deal with you later, and you elf follow me-" at the captain's word the other man stomps off still holding his face, I know he will be back to get payback if only to soothe his pride, "-Serving class is not my area, if it were you'd both be running laps the rest of the day or cleaning the pits. But it ain't so the ambassador can deal with you."

The captain turns to leave, and I follow, the discussion of what had happened is over as everytime I attempt to question the happenings I am met with a terse 'Ambassadors job not mine' or a 'Shut it elf.' and my anger is building once more. As I was being escorted towards the chantry something struck me, I may not be religious myself, but I can respect others choices in theology yet it's the buildings of most religions that have always been breathtaking to me, and the chantry here in haven is no exception.

Even If I have seen it before day after day, yet for some reason today the appeal of it has indeed come to bare.

The building before me is beautiful, old stone and stained glass, but to it is nothing but a cage for a God that is silent to his followers. He isn’t contained by its walls. He is in the mountains, the rocks, the rivers. He is in the spirit of the animals. He is the love that made our world, the love that needs them to cling to Him and know they are safe with Him, with Love.

The maker is everything to some people, and yet they think someplace like this could hold the spirit of a God.

For me, I don't need a clergyman to forgive me, or redeem me for acts not done by my hand. We let the devil in long ago with our worship of money, gold, and power, then came our predators to hurt the children and innocent and the deadly sins are how we will be fooled into destroying the earth, deadly not always in a personal way, but to the entire planet.

My mind has taken this idea and run away with it. Honestly today I am entirely together, not at all scatterbrained. Not.

We were only just outside the chantry doors when I could begin to hear the chanting or maybe it was something else coming from inside; I am not sure how the services here work yet. Once inside I am left in front of a door with a nod before moving away to return to whatever duties he holds, I am quick to knock on the door, and not thirty seconds later a very polite voice called for me to enter. “Just a second, I will be at your full attention,” Peeking around the door I was met with a rather well-clothed woman, gold and blues draped across her clearly stating that she is of a higher class than myself, "Now how may I help you? Miss?"

"Louise, ahh I was brought he cause I got in a scrap with a scout?" Sitting in this office made me feel a little unnerved mainly because I have no idea why I needed to see the ambassador beyond the 'serving class' comment from the captain or why I was feeling like this in the first place as this woman was barely to my shoulder and looked somewhat soft. Then her eyes narrowed at and I could tell the innocent face she shows is to make you feel safe, this woman before me knew what she was about and I don't think my little scrap fit with her ideals.

"I see, well Miss Louise, please take a seat, and we can see to this matter properly-" we are seated, and a sheet of paper is drawn before the lady ambassador continues,"-Now please, tell me exactly what happened, the more detail the better," and so I begin explaining that I work in the wood yard doing the chopping and such and that today I was running odd jobs instead, even describing the comments and my anger about them which was met with an 'I see', nearing the end of my description of why I punched the scout I was stopped with a polite hand raising.

"Thank you, Miss Louise, I believe I have an understanding of the situation. The scout in question left and is being dealt with by the captain, yes?"

"Yeah, I think so,"

"And you have been brought to me to be seen too, correct?"

"Yes,"

"Then we have one problem and a solution to the incident to address,"

"What problem do we have?"

A book is drawn from the corner of the table, and three smaller sheets of paper from a draw in the desk, the book before her and the three sheets passed to me before the ambassador speaks again. "The problem is Miss Louise that you are not an actual member of staff and as such solving this problem as the situation stands would have you in the cells below for assaulting a member of the inquisition. Now the three sheets before you are the standard serving contracts for the inquisition for someone doing manual labour such as yourself-" looking down at the sheet I am thankful for the ability to read cursive. Otherwise, I would be lost in the loops and curves, "-I can give you a moment to read over it and sign if you should want to, but again as you are not an active member if our cause you would be imprisoned for a time for your actions,"

Sneaky, get in trouble and propose to join to save your skin? I mean it is not really fair, join us or suffer? I did not expect entrapment so soon, from the people that had been keeping myself and my father safe. Reading over the contract it seemed almost the same as the one I signed for work back home but with more loopholes for this place to take advantage of, "Ahh ambassador-" "Josephine if you please," "-Right Josephine, it states that you can change and replace my appointment at any time. So I would be picked up and dumped on a new job on someone's whim? Or if I step on someone's toes?" there is a brief look of surprise before he face schools back into something like calmness.

"That is one way of accessing that section but not what it was intended to mean. That particular section is meant to address the movement of staff should one area be in need of extra staff on short notice, not moving people on a whim or from dislike," it's a good answer and had I not worked in business for a time I might have accepted it as is. "But a person could still use their position over me to do as such, and also here it states that my pay will be docked to a set amount determined by my superior depending on my offence should I commit an act deemed to be against the inquisitions interests. Is that not also giving the person overseeing me a chance to use dislike and such as a reason to take my pay from me?"

The ambassador doesn't even shuffle when I gaze up at her, however, her face is set with determination and some measure of excitement as if no one has sat down and discussed the terms of this contract with her before. "A person could do both of those things, yes, but they would be reprimanded if and when they are caught. Is there anything else you would like to see to in the contract? Or shall I pass you a quill and we may move on to the solution of this altercation you had before this meeting?"

"I have one last thing to address, why does it ask for me to agree to constantly changeable hours? Is there not a set minimum amount of chargeable hours for manual labour with pre-arranged breaks, plus a set amount payable to someone should they have to work beyond their expected hours?" Again there is little movement from the ambassador when I ask my question, straight-faced and patient despite my probing of the terms she has written.

"I see, a moment if you would,"

"Take all the time you need," another sheet of paper is drawn from a stack to the left of the lady ambassador, several minutes go by and I continue to read through the labourer's contract given to me and as I do I find more and more points and agreements that make this seem like a servants contract, not a labourers. "Here we are, Miss Louise I hope this shall suffice for the moment, I will see to amending the general service contract and call you back at a late date if that is suitable to you?" My three sheets are traded for the one she had been working on, that appears to be a temporary contract of sorts detailing the continuation of my current work, hours, pay and housing location.

"This is fine, and whenever you have the new version of that ready, I will come by and sign it, Yeah?" a pleased hum and a pen from her is all it takes before I am temporarily made a member of this organisation. The rest of this strange meeting passes by quickly as I am told that I will face a minor punishment for my 'rash' actions towards the scout and that when my sentence is concluded I may return to my regular duties. Before I can get up and leave to head back to the work yard the ambassador chimes back in with a question, "If I may, where did you learn to dictate terms? It is...uncommon for a labourer to be able to asses their contract as such," I am half out of my chair when she asks and slowly sink back into it when she does.

"I worked in business when I was younger. Had a lot of time to read over things like this, plus my boss taught most of us how to see points in a contract that could be misused-" I am not comfortable speaking about my time in business as it came with no little betrayal to my ideas about the banks and their actions, "-I guess he didn't want us tricked at other jobs? Does that answer help?" there is another soft hum and some quick scratches on a piece of paper on a clipboard before she stands and I am ushered out of the room with a curt 'I will see you again with the amended contract' and a 'good day Miss Louise' before the door is closed behind me.

As I leave, I can't help but feel as though I have fucked myself over big time. How common is it for people to just sign away their time and rights? How many people here are having pay and hours changed due to just slightly inconveniencing their boss? How fucked would I have been had I merely signed that and had no say in what comes next for my work? My mind races as I leave and make my way back down to the work yard, maybe I should talk to dad and see if he has signed anything like that.

I hope not...


	13. Wounded words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounds, words, and more words.

You would have thought having just left the ambassadors office The excitement for the day would have come to an end, but apparently not. Otherwise, I would not be in the healer's tent with my father and a split lip waiting on the commander and the captain from earlier to enter, I honestly had not expected to be in this situation again not so soon after the last, but here I am, hands hurting from the tight clench and my father getting looked over by one of the healers he works with.

But that's the after I should probably explain the how of this situation, and well that is the messy and angry part of all this.

After meeting with the ambassador and going through all the contract nonsense, dealing with the comments, trying to return to chopping wood as nothing had happened, and eventually returning to the tent city after eating with the others from today only to find a scene developing in the main road. A cry of a familiar voice and the crack of flesh hitting flesh, before a thump and a wet sound as something splattered on the ground. Typically I would have left this alone, but after my day, I could not leave well enough alone, and I am glad that I didn't as when I made my way towards the small crowd I found out why the cry was familiar.

My dad lay on the floor dazed and clutching his stomach as blood dripped from his mouth and nose, and above him stood the scout from earlier with a smug look on his face. Now when I was younger I played a lot of sport more than any others in my family, I played hockey, soccer, basketball, even dabbled in archery and kickboxing so when I aim to launch myself into another person it will hurt.

Badly.

So when my feet connect with the side of this scouts armour he falls, I am quick to get back up and faster to act out my fury on finding my father in such a state. A swift kick in the teeth and massive stomp is what I deliver to the scout as he tries to regain his balance, there is a crunch when my foot meets his lower back, and another follows when I throw another kick into his ribs before someone grabs my arm and pulls me away, another armed person deals with the scouts prone from as my father is picked up off the floor and taken towards a familiar tent.

I, however, break away from the grip and follow along after him he is sixty years old and even with his time in the military taking such blows at his age could be worse then they appear. Yet as I make my way to follow my father and this other person into the tent there is the familiar feeling of something hitting my face, as I stumble from the hit and flick my eyes to where the blow came from to find the scout slumped slightly with a smirk on his dirt-smeared face.

"Not so tough now, _rabbit_ -" a harsh, wet sound and blood is spat onto my face "-You better watch your back, Cause we ain't done yet!"

The feeling as time slows and I make my move is one that seems to drag, do I punch him and hope he stays down? Or do I keep walking and let him believe he has one this time? I am sad to say that even after all I have been through I am still prone to acts of quick acting anger and violence, so I punched him. Hard or well as hard as I could at the moment with my mind caught up in the shitstorm of violent emotions.

He stumbles, and an arm around his waist grants him support whereas the one now around mine is restraint, I have no desire to go for another hit I know better and that the arm around my waist is keeping me from moving forward leaving the scout and his friend holding him up to stumble away into the gated town behind me. I am guessing that the scout is gone as the arm around me disappears and I am quick to bolt into the tent my father was placed in, whoever had been holding me back stayed outside when I went in and only muffed clanking and shouts of 'Commander' drift into the tent.

" _Little_...one," my dad's voice is weak when I find him; I think he got punched in the throat before I found him hopefully there is nothing broken or badly damaged internally, I fear for him if there is. "Little one, y-your face?" When I kneel by him a gentle hand rests against my cheek thumb just brushing under my mouth staining his skin with my blood, "You didn't need to do _that_...not for me," his hand falls away from my face when the tent opens and closes with a person exiting the tent.

"Dad?"

"Yes, _Erinn_?"

" _ **Louise**_ , dad. It's _Louise_ now,"

"I named you **Erinn**...but as you wish little one,"

"Didn't need to do that? Dad, you were on the ground **bleeding**! I could have done a lot _worse_ , I have done a lot worse for strangers and the family just-" the tent opens again and the clank of armour cuts of my sentence, " **You two!** Stay in here; the commander will deal with this." More clanking as the person who opened the tent lets the flaps close and presumably stands to wait for the commander. "Just. Please stay safe? For me, I can take the blows if need be, stay safe?" he nodded and a section of the dried blood on his face flakes away from his face, I don't want to see him like this again.

I am not sure how long I sat with my dad waiting on this 'Commander' but when the tent opened again the sky that had been a soft blue tinted with greens from the breach over the mountains was now a fading mix of purples and oranges. Dad had long since been seen too, a bottle of minty smelling stuff sitting between us as a blonde haired man enters followed by the captain from earlier not looking pleased to be dealing with this shit again.

"These are the two Commander. The older one is the victim of scout Jamison and the younger one I had dealt with earlier for an altercation with the same scout," the blonde of the two cast his gaze between my father and I before letting out a huff and rubbing his forehead, "Thank you, Captain Markus, please head back and check on the scout I will see to him after this." The captain nods and leaves casting a glance back at myself before shaking his head and disappearing again out into the now dark world outside, "Now, you two. What in the markers name has happened? I have been informed that you-"his hand gestures to me, "-had an altercation earlier, but you. You for all I have been told are innocent in this," there is a moment of silence before my dad speaks up.

"I don't know why I was...attacked, but I know that scout and this was strange from him,"

"You know scout Jamison?"

"Yes, he came in a fortnight ago with a minor scrape,"

"I see..."

Another section of silence falls between us before the Commander speaks again, "And what of you? Did you know Jamison before today? Or has today's acts been the first time?" when the commander looks to me I see something I find familiar in his face, a look I used to wear when I lead my group in the rebellion the frustration of internal conflict and the desperation for a moment of peace from all this stupidity.

"I did not know this guy before today. But what he did to my dad is payback for earlier, or at least I think it is,"

"I know only the bare minimum of this earlier interaction, so miss?"

"Louise, and earlier he interrupted my work, and I reacted badly. I punched him twice and was taken to the ambassador,"

" _Right_ ,"

The next moments are spent with the commander rubbing his forehead and looking at my father and I before, sighing and shifting his weight slightly "Right, Miss Louise I am assuming that you have already received punishment from the lady ambassador for the earlier incident?" "I have, yes." one more shift of weight and then a settling of the commanders face before he spoke again, "Then you will serve that punishment as it is, as for this incident I can't see this being anything other than the scout's fault. He will face the standard punishment for assault of an inquisition member, and furthermore, you are to be moved to avoid a further altercation, is this understood?"

"Yes, commander,"

"Then all is settled when you are healed head to see the quartermaster for a room assignment," there is a muffled clanking as the commander moves out of the tent, I am thankful that dad does not have to face any punishment for being caught up in my mess.

If only I had kept my mouth **shut** , dad would not have had to experience this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of talking and stuff this time, you get to see that Louise is a bit hot-headed and still very much worried about her dad.


	14. Watch the rain pour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just something short

The valley did nothing but channel the cold air and hide the moon. The chill wind tugged at their clothing and whipped loose hair about their faces, bringing with it the first of the rain that had been promised. Their newly wet skin offered their body heat to the frigid air, only to find its appetite was insatiable. Ahead was the quartermaster's tent, their only chance for shelter till we are given our new quarters. I lead the way dragging dad in and under the canvas awning.

Just when my eyes had adjusted to the soft light of the quartermaster's tent, the steel grey clouds are melting into a newly monochromatic landscape; there came a brilliant flash that flickered and died. It was not a bolt, streaking to earth, but more like an almighty camera flash that blanketed everything at once. Moments later there came to the rumbling thunder, and right on cue, the rain began to fall haphazardly from the sky as if it wasn't entirely committed to the idea of rain. Then all at once, it landed in great sheets, and there was nowhere to hide. Another flash burned into my dilated pupils followed hotly by its fracking boom.

Whatever conversation was had between my father and the woman in front of me is lost as I watch the rain pour. It wasn't just rain; it was a downpour as heavy as I had ever seen. Walking through a waterfall couldn't get any wetter. The drops struck the already damp material, pitting the surface like they were bullets from above there was no harm in it, everything would be just the same after the storm had passed.

The thunder seemed to crack the air as if the very heavens might split apart. It rolled like the ash cloud of a volcano, becoming a rolling booming rumble. It declared to all the raw power of nature and gave fair warning of the wrath that was to come. Only the lightning that followed flashed green under the grey clouds, reminding those of us watching the light what lurked behind the storm.

Most of the night is lost in the rain as my dad pulls me along behind him, uphill and across a small clearing towards a cabin. Words muttered about how we have been separated, I was to stay with the other woodworkers, and he was going to stay with the healers closer to the gates. When he left, I was watching him through the downpour.

This marks the beginning of a new chapter, away from my father and waiting on what comes next.

I hope he stays safe.


	15. Celabrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeet I am back on my bullshit! 
> 
> Or am I? I don't know maybe.

After the storm came the kind of day, even a feather would fall without drifting one way or the other. The grass was straight and silent; the leaves dangled more as if they had been painted there. Should a person be able to feel the beating of the birds' wings - that would have been the only breeze. It was still, utterly still.

Everything is blurry. For a second, I never know who or where I am. I don't know how I got in bed, or how I got in these clothes but slowly and reluctantly, I uncover my face. I blink, close my eyes, and blink again. Streaks of sunlight penetrate the window and blind me. I sit up, drag my feet off the bed, and rub my knuckles into my eyes. I am then promptly greeted with at least ten other people, an even mix of the races is what I assume, but I can't tell with sleep still clogging my mind.

As I stretch my arms out above my head I can see just how different I am compared to the other elves I can see; the few ladies might be about one fifty and the males just reaching or slightly over one sixty in height. They seem so small compared to me, I might be a good two heads taller than them all and at least half a length broader than some.

It makes me wonder what could have caused their growth to stunt like that.

I had barely muttered out a 'good morning' before two young ladies came rushing up and peppering me with questions, “Where are you from?”, “why do you sound like that?”, and “How are you so tall?” was the first to spill forth before Mirrie came and cleared them off. "So you're finally in with the rest of us? Good, it's about time," the cot I occupied dents as she comes to sit by me when I pull on my boots and push my hair from my face, "Not that you staying with your papa was bad or anything, just was a bit odd having you out there alone and all of us in here,"

"Wait alone? You mean you all lived in here the whole time?"

"Well, not the whole time but about a month ago we got assigned to this cabin. I didn't notice till yesterday that you weren't in here with us, I mean not that you're hard to miss just that-" I put my hand up around halfway into her rambling, and she just continued to prattle on, as such the last two words from her are muffled by my hand now over her mouth. "Mirrie-" A muffled response and the feeling of lips moving against my hand "-just slow down, take a breath, THEN tell me in as few words possible when did you get put up here."

I had to shake my hand slightly when I moved it away from her mouth, I mean sure I drool a lot sometimes but this is like sewer clown level saliva. "Right, around a month back we got pulled from the yard and put in here. I thought you knew cause you helped me pull down those tents on our off day," her expression is tight and it is clear that she genuinely thought I had been told and had merely stayed down there for my father's sake. If I had been told I would have dragged dad up here by his hair and made him sleep inside all this cold and wet is not good for him.

A sigh and a gentle hand on her back are all I get before someone calls for us to get going, we are working inside the walls today in one of the open sections that need to be cleared further.

The weather is the kind that feels like a kiss of summer without the fiery heat of noon. The grass is a soft green that almost has a hint of blue and in the sky is enough pristine white cloud to show you how beautiful the sky was, how perfect it used to be before whatever that green thing is.

We had spent most of the day cutting low branches and clearing the fallen needles from the pines, there are new faces now hauling things alongside me namely a rather burly looking woman that has been nonstop pushing snow, I was able to watch her squash a bank near an edge before someone called me over to gather another pile to head for the tavern. The sun had bearly begun to set when we heard the call the stop for the day, too early for the actual end of work but late enough that this couldn't be the midday call either, something was going on or something was about to go on as most of the group flocked to the edge of where we were working to watch what was happening down below.

Banners and soldiers marching, people cheering after a speech and the raising of a flag, an announcement? Whatever it was brought a swell of emotion to the other workers, people cheering, a few hugging, and someone even wrapped an arm around my waist and did the little squeeze thing friends do I am still not quite sure what happened but work ended, and Mirrie, myself, the very burly woman, and a man I don't know were left standing on the hill watching the others amble down into the town.

"Is it just me or is anyone else confused right now," a sharp bark of laughter and soft giggles come from those around me, "What? I have no idea what was just announced or why people are running off when we could still work for like an hour, What?" more laughter and Mirrie doubled over beside me holding her stomach as she struggled to breathe between giggles.

"It was the public announcement; we are official now. The inquisition is reborn! So we celebrate for tomorrow starts the long road to avenging the divine," it was not Mirrie who spoke but the other woman still up here with us, turning to look at her I believe I have seen her before maybe down in the other yard.

"Right, you lot gonna come down and drink with the rest of us or you gonna just stay up there and look lost?" two voices chime in with a 'coming' before they move away to follow the path back into the town proper, small fires popping up here and there as I look out over the city.

The sun was sinking fast now as if it waited for the announcement to end before setting entirely.

Looking towards the horizon, I see the fiery red orb slowly dip behind the mountains as though engulfed by it. Mesmerized I watch as the leaving sun dyes the heavens a bright orange and turns the snow a deep blood red. The sky slowly turns crimson, deepens into a maroon and then lightens into a soft pink before turning into a majestic purple signalling twilight and then enveloping me in darkness.

Before I could register the darkness sequin-silver stars appeared and winked at me as though we shared a funny joke, I loved watching the stars when I was younger there is so many of them, and I learnt so many constellations just to make the time's others joined me so much more interesting as I doubt they enjoyed just staring up at some dots in the dark.

"You never seem to be where I expect, what comes Louise?" looking over my shoulder at the shape standing by the end of the path, god I wish I had my fucken glasses but as they move closer I can make out the light source the carry as just a ball of flame held in the palm of their hand, the fire gleaming off of the gold accents on their clothes.

Orsino.

"An old habit, I guess. Never did meet expectations much," the dirt crutches under his boots as he comes to stand by me, the open flame held just off from either of us. "Ahh is your hand gonna be okay? Or do you need to put that down? I...I don't know what is meant happen with ahh that," a single finger pointed at the flames, and they disappear from his hands.

"Apologies, I forget people are not comfortable with open magic," and so we are left standing in the dark looking out at the town, "And as for my hand, It will be fine it is common for mages to barrier the section of skin that will be near a spell like that," I find the darkness strange. Living in the heart of a city, I had grown used to having the warming, orange glow of streetlamps outside my window, their light filtering in through the gaps in the curtains. This was a blackness that I couldn't recall seeing before - one that was almost absolute.

When I tilted my head skyward, I could see millions of bright stars dotted on the black canvas of night, yet none of that light seemed to filter far enough down to make any difference when I turned my eyes away. "Orsino?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you come up here? Did you need something from me?" despite the dark I can see him almost clearly beside me, pale skin, messy hair pushed back in an attempt at looking put together, ears twitching slightly as the wind picks up slightly. "I do need something from you; I need you to come with me for a moment or two I would like to check how your legs and such have healed since I last looked them over. I also have a few questions if you don't mind,"

One last look out over the now lively town I glance back at Orsino before nodding and beginning to move down the slope.

"Louise?"

"Hmm, yes?"

"I-Nothing, shall we," a few steps and he was beside me, a hand held out in an offering. The crunching of dirt under boot, wind passing by, and the hollers of people carry us towards the now almost gone tent city where the healers still linger. 


	16. The father and the stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOME MORE DAD...eheheh

My father was a proud man. He was strict, disciplined and of high principle. He was short-tempered and did some wrong in his life, but he wasn’t an evil man. He had just been washed with lousy experience and born more short-tempered than most.

He wore his pride like a parapet. I didn’t know whether it was to shield him or not let anyone in. His keen intellect, precise eye and sudden anger led to a profoundly tarnished reputation amongst his distant relatives.

That was his youth, before the years of service in the army and before he had two children and a world to lose.

Now he has a chaotic mess of hair and wrinkles on his brow bone, forehead and under the grey-blue eyes that always smiled at me. His hands are withered, and his fingers like an insect antenna. He is bold. He has the resounding presence of a phoenix but the quiet yet strong aura of a father, he didn’t have to talk to be the loudest person in a room now. No all he had to do laugh to have the attention of all.

In fact, he is much like a tree with great boughs striving to touch the sky and its roots strengthening its hold on the ground; he is an ambitious man with firm roots to his past and significant ties to his homeland. Even here somewhere far from home he still speaks about his childhood in Germany, the times he and a few other boys went running into the black forest even with oma's words of warning about the woods. " _Never play in the deeper sections Boris, the woods are old and will take you_ ," he was told that up till they left for Australia and then I was told it as well when I would go out to play.

" _Don't go running in the scrub, tricksters and trees will take you from here_ ," just as my father did not listen to his mother, I did not listen to him about that, but it doesn't matter now. My father told me lots of strange things when I was younger, taught me things about the old world, or so he said " _A handful of flour for the trickster when you are by an open flame_ ," and giddy laughs of young children would follow as we did just that. " _Be careful in the city, little one we stand out, and they will hate for that,_ " I was older when he said that and took it to heart for he was right.

My father is a proud man. He is strict, disciplined and of high principle. He was short-tempered and did some wrong in his life, but he isn’t an evil man. My Father is a wise man. He is strong and devout in the family.

My father is not a good man, and he never will be nor will he try to be.

In the main tent for the healers sits said man, wounds rewrapped so that the blood will not seep through again, on each arm, there are great purple welts that will only deepen over the coming week. Against my ashen skin, they are grotesque, but I know I am lucky not to have broken bones - then what would I do? I sigh and reach for my long sleeved top again. I look as beat up as I did in my early days of training, sparring with guys two heads taller and over twice my mass.

Moving without pain, without aches, was just one thing I used to take for granted. Today my muscles feel as though they have been flash-burned with acid from the inside - just sufficient to make them move like the living cells have been replaced by aging rubber bands, thick and twisted. I no longer feel like my limbs belong to me. No longer are we one cohesive machine of blood and bone. They are the enemy, decaying and angry. My eyes fall again to the stair in front, pebbles in concrete, inconsequential to any five year old. Before my foot has moved an inch, I feel my jaw clench in anticipation and already I am resigned to the discomfort to follow.

"I would hold off moving just yet Boris, you were lucky that scout didn't break your legs," the hanging mass of braids that follows Solas tinkles slightly as he moves beside me, bass charms clinking against each other when he looks up at me. "You may be able to move better than yesterday, but you are still rather wounded, when you can you may consider thanking your daughter for her intervention else wise...." there is no pain when he removes the bandages from my chest examining the patches of green and yellowing skin, "Well, you might not have woken this morning," his words sting worse then the pressure he applies to the bruises.

"I know, I know. I just wish she didn't have to do that-" the rest of the conversation is cut off as calls and cheers of celebration fill the area outside the tent, some of the other healers not seeing to a person move to look out of the tent before disappearing into whatever is happening outside. "What is going on there? Solas?" the man stands by the doorway watching the people move by the opening, a brief shake of the head and he is back by me wrapping the bandages back around my chest with more of the mint like substance applied to it.

"It is an announcement of something already known, nothing more, nothing less, you should rest," for a man that spends so much of his time with rough cloth and bandages in his hands, the callouses seem new as if he had years between when he actually needed them and now. So his hands are soft when they help me stand and make to move for the tent entrance, "I will go and rest, but I doubt it will do any good," though the sun is setting adjusting from the darker tent into the fading light takes me a few painful blinks to see clearly.

"Are you not sleeping well? Do your dreams bother you?" I can't tell if he is genuinely concerned for me or just confused about my statement, all I can give is a small nod before we round on two familiar figures. Orsino walking by my little one, he looks lively and moving through the motions of a conversation whereas my girl looks so...lost like when I used to talk about plants or when she spoke to me about some of the games she used to play.

That was until she started watching another person, bringing all four of us to a halt.

The young woman held herself like her upper spine was rubber, shoulders falling forwards in a way that would be more befitting a grandmother. When she caught my eye her path changed, instead of continuing towards the gates she turned and marched towards Orsino and myself eyes clouded as if she was still half asleep and a hand clenched around something.

" _ **He calls...**_ "

Cold metal and rough leather are pressed into my hand before the woman blinks, and her demeanour changes, a huff and a sneer before I am pushed out of the way, and she storms off. Not the strangest interaction to date but one that sticks out the most.

The pendant in question looks to be a dragon holding a red stone; it is warm, yet not as if warmed by my hand.

_Who on earth is humming right now?_

" **Little one?** "

" **Dad?** "


	17. A voice heard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE RETURNED WITH A VENGEANCE. 
> 
> IT IS SMALL BUT STILL A START AFTER ALMOST THREE MONTHS AWAY!

It was like no one else had seen the woman place something in my hand, a moment that was seen from one side and lost to the others.

And so with a short conversation with dad about how he is going after his injuries and a nod of greeting to the man beside him, Solas if I remember correctly. Orsino and I are off again weaving our way through the people gathered in small groups to celebrate the earlier announcement. Cheers to a 'Herald' and whoops of joy that follow each call for celebration, this is not the first time I have heard the title of herald followed by praise or just generally positive commentary by all accounts I assume this herald to be a wonderful person who is trying to stop the spread of the green hole in the sky.

But I have yet to actually ' **SEE** ' this Herald, maybe they are just busy doing whatever it is that heralds do in this world or perhaps they are just not here in the town anymore, but one thing I do know is that thanks to them the town is safe or well safer from what I have been told.

Weaving through the small crowds of soldiers and others took most of my remaining energy away, not to mention catching up with Orsino when he managed to get in front of me was adding more strain to my already exhausted body. So when we had finally reached the healer's tent I was more than glad to sit down and wait for Orsino to come back and do whatever checks he needed, I may have dozed off slightly while waiting and I will admit floating between waking and sleeping is beautiful in ways I can't describe but I am drawn out of that beautiful lul and into the realisation that there are people talking around me.

"You know she is under my care?"

"I am well aware First Encha-"

"Orsino. I am no longer a First Enchanter and need not be called one,"

"Apologies, but as said. I am aware that she is under your care, but her father has asked I look before my leaving. So please if I may?"

"You should likely wake her; I doubt waking in the middle of an examination would be pleasant,"

"I-Immawake. Is okay wadda want me to do?" rubbing at my eyes, I fully drew myself from the lingering embrace of sleep, wiping away the crust from my eyes as everything returns to focus. Beside me sits Solas and behind him stands Orsino each holding a book and small bag, this may have been the closest I have been to Solas since I first met him and I had missed so much in his profile.

A small set of small scars one set upon his brow and the other under his lip, bright gold charms clamped against the dark red-brown of his hair, and the lines on his face make him seem so much older then I had guessed. If I had never gotten to see him up close like this I would have thought him my age or slightly older then that, but now I am almost sure that he is just younger then my dad.

The examination went kind of as I had expected, a hand run over my legs pressing here and there asking what hurts and if anything pains me when I walk, most questions are answered with a swift 'No' or 'Not of late'. When he had deemed the check completed a small pot of the mint smelling paste is placed in my lap, and a levelled look towards Solas from a new friend follows the call of my name, Orsino stands by the door small bowls in hand, and a lump of cloth hung over his shoulder.

"I think ser Solas, that it is time for you to leave. The Herald does need you after all," three long strides and he is next to me as Solas stands to move away, "Orsino, while I welcome your advice, and you are correct that I must hurry, please mind your tone," sharp words from Orsino met with cold snapping from Solas, all is not calm within the healers tent.

"Apologies Louise, that was not appropriate. Still, hopefully, you will let me look over your injuries? Not to doubt ser Sola's ski-"

"Orsino?"

"Yes?"

"I am guessing you brought food for both of us if so let's eat and then you can do your checks," A soft smile and a hand held out for one of the bowls, despite the run-in with the rude woman today has ended somewhat well.

**_'Haaa...csssssss...'_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LODATE iL SOLE!!!


End file.
